


hoping made you hurt more

by astronomicallie



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ... sort of, Established Relationship, Forgotten Relationship, M/M, No Beta, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Pre-PT wake-up calls, Third Semester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicallie/pseuds/astronomicallie
Summary: It's… eerie. For a moment, Yusuke feels like the lights have gone too bright. He blinks to get the spots out of his eyes— why would that happen? He's sitting, so it isn't a head rush, but he's also eating so it can't be hunger…Wait. When was the last time he felthungry?When his mother's painting finally goes on display, Yusuke feels he has everything he could ever wish for. Then Akira joins him.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	hoping made you hurt more

**Author's Note:**

> been thinking about the 'i'll be waiting for you' options when waking up the thieves for months now. thought it'd be cool to try to expand them more than the game was able to.
> 
> title from 'something comforting' by porter robinson

It starts off as a wonderful day. With his mother’s painting finally on display, _finally_ receiving the attention and praise that such a gorgeous piece deserves, Yusuke can’t help but stand by it at the museum, watching people take it in and feel a surge of pride every time they murmur to each other in awe. 

He wishes she could see it for herself. He tries to picture her face upon finding it here, but he can’t even remember what she looks like aside from this self portrait, this loving depiction of a mother and her child.

It’s enough to share this moment with the one piece of her that he has left.

Then, Akira comes. Yusuke explains it all— his plight to get it here, how his tutelage under Madarame is going. He barely registers the twitch in Akira’s brow. He’s too high on the success of a long-held dream coming to fruition, eyes loathe to part from gazing at the familiar painting so that he can properly address Akira.

Akira listens, quiet and contemplative with barely even a smile on his face. And Yusuke can’t let him leave without seeing that smile at least once.

"Oh— why don't you join us for dinner? Sensei's been very interested in meeting you." A rush of happiness fills his lungs like the first breath in a café. (Warm, welcoming, perfect.) "Don't worry, he'll even pay for the meal!"

Watching the barely-there warmth bleed away from Akira’s face starts up a chill under Yusuke's own skin.

But Akira doesn't refuse. He just tilts his head like a cat, studying Yusuke so closely that Yusuke has half a mind to direct that probing gaze to the artwork around them. "I'd like that," he murmurs quietly. "What's for dinner?"

* * *

Dinner is sushi, one of the finer places in the city. Though Yusuke and his mentor are rarely short on funds, they live modestly and try not to indulge too often. The nigiri tastes all the better when it's enjoyed sparingly, as celebration or recompense for a rough experience. Greed has not, _will_ not, taint their lives.

Tonight, dinner is a celebration of Yusuke's mother. Madarame says as much before they give their thanks for the meal and begin to eat. Akira sits next to Yusuke, and he feels the space between them as keenly as he assumes he would perceive an absolute lack thereof. The air feels charged, deliberate. There are six inches between them, with Akira murmuring an apology if their elbows just so happen to bump.

Yusuke has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from insisting it's fine, and _you could sit closer, if you want—_ What?

"So, Akira," Madarame starts. His smile brings out crows' feet around his eyes. "Yusuke has told me so much about you. It's an honor to finally meet such an inspiration of his."

Yusuke feels himself flush, though he isn't sure why.

"Really?" Akira asks, and there's the neutral tone again. He reaches to take a drink before meeting Madarame's kind gaze. "All good things, I hope."

And Madarame… he _pauses,_ as if testing his options. 

_Of course,_ Yusuke thinks. _I would never speak ill of Akira._

Madarame says, "But of course. I don't think Yusuke has ever spoken ill of you."

It's… eerie. For a moment, Yusuke feels like the lights have gone too bright. He blinks to get the spots out of his eyes— why would that happen? He's sitting, so it isn't a head rush, but he's also eating so it can't be hunger…

Wait. When was the last time he felt _hungry?_

"That's good," Akira murmurs. He looks at Yusuke, brow etched with just as much analysis as there is concern. "Are you alright? You look pale."

Yusuke shakes his head slowly. He’s afraid that if he goes any faster, the world will start spinning. "I'm fine, thank you."

"If you're feeling ill later," Madarame says, "remind me to call the doctor. I wouldn't want you overworking yourself, Yusuke."

"Thank you, Sensei." Yusuke means it, he truly does. But somewhere deep inside him he hears a quiet rebuttal: _Why not?_

* * *

Madarame asks if Akira will accompany them home, and Yusuke doesn't refuse the idea. He _is_ feeling under the weather, so he can't imagine he will paint much tonight. In fact, he wants nothing more than the company of a dear friend this evening. He says as much, earnest and clear on the way home.

Akira goes pink and reaches to comb through his dark, frizzy hair. "I missed you too, Yusuke."

Yusuke can't parse exactly what that means, but he feels an agreement deep in his bones. _Yes,_ they rumble, _I missed you._

Their home is modest but not shabby, sparse but not empty. Madarame decides to turn in early, heading to his own room with a pleasant smile. "Be sure to walk him to the station when he leaves, Yusuke. Or, well— if he's staying, I suppose you won't have to."

There's no suggestiveness in his tone, just honest hospitality. When Yusuke looks to Akira with a smile, he sees something haunted in those eyes. He looks ahead and doesn't meet Yusuke's gaze until the emotion drains and leaves a familiar grey. "That— that won't be necessary," Akira says, and Yusuke can't remember the last time he stumbled like that. "I have a home, I'm content with Yusuke walking me back."

While Yusuke tries to figure out why there’s a cold hole in his stomach at the prospect of not being aligned with _home_ to Akira, Madarame nods. "Of course. Carry on."

They go down the main hall to Yusuke's room, which is a navy-wrapped space with pictures of all kinds adorning the walls. He has his own easel, a comfortable chair to sit in, a warm bed— what more could he ask for?

Akira lingers in the threshold, oddly vampiric. Whereas a vampire waits patiently for an invitation, Akira looks frozen, like he's about to intrude on something personal.

"Come on," Yusuke says as he sits on the bed. "It's not like you haven't been here before."

Akira shifts his weight. "Right." He enters and remains standing, hovering about like he's ready to escape in a moment's notice. He takes in the walls, the decor, like he's appraising the room and—

_Has_ he been here before? If he hasn’t met Madarame...

The lamp in the corner is suddenly much too bright. Yusuke feels a chill crawl up his spine and blinks.

"A lobster?" Akira asks, his attention caught on a small stuffed plush on the desk.

"Yes." It's easier to latch onto that than it is to linger on the there-and-gone-again wrongness of whatever just happened. "Futaba had me accompany her to an arcade, and I won that in one of the crane games. It's a wonderful specimen, is it not? I thought the color excelled as an accent to the rest of my room."

Akira smiles, soft and fond and _oh,_ Yusuke's chest feels tight. "Yeah," he says, simple and sweet. Yusuke wants to paint the sound. Then Akira's expression flickers, shuttering. "I missed you."

"You've said that. Was I really so distant while setting up the exhibit…?"

Akira hums, shrugs, and Yusuke’s missing a piece of this puzzle, he _has_ to be.

They talk a while after that. Surface-level things, mainly— how school is going, how Yusuke’s latest projects are going, the like. Akira doesn’t offer much if anything about himself despite Yusuke’s questions. In fact, Akira’s just _distant_ for almost the entirety of their time in that room. He maintains space between them. He crosses his legs and arms and shifts in his seat as if he’s uncomfortable.

He does not take Yusuke’s offer to join him on the bed. That gets the most spirited reaction of the night out of him, really, with red cheeks and a fervent shake of the head. _No, that’s not a good idea._

Yusuke’s concerned, but he can’t get anything out of Akira. That is, until after he walks Akira to the station like he said he would. Despite how badly he wants to ease the set of Akira’s shoulders and carve a softer expression out of his shuttered gaze, there aren’t many shuttles left for the night. He says goodbye.

Akira turns, hands in his pockets. "I _miss_ you."

Yusuke laughs. It’s a shaky sound. "You haven’t left yet, Akira. I’m right here. Is something wrong?"

"No, not that… Everything is right, actually. Perfect." He takes a quick, deep breath. "But— but should everything be _perfect,_ Yusuke?"

The cold returns, creeping over his shoulders. "Well, I wouldn't say everything has to be perfect _all_ the time, no, but…" He looks up at Akira. "What's this about? That's… a large question."

Akira doesn't answer him. He studies him, gaze darting over Yusuke's face, and his stare goes deeper than Yusuke has ever felt. The line of his mouth is set. Yusuke wants to reach out and ease it himself, curve it into a smile with his thumb. He wants to press his lips to Akira’s forehead to smooth the furrow of his brow. Even in the fluorescent lights of a station, he’s breathtaking, and Yusuke notes this with a nostalgia that he can’t quite recognize.

"I'm glad the _Sayuri_ is getting the attention it deserves," Akira says, slow and careful. Like, somehow, _Yusuke_ is the one who looks like he's about to bolt.

Perhaps that isn't so far-fetched. He finds himself frozen. "The _Sayuri…?"_

"Your mother's painting. At the museum, Yusuke." There’s something hopeful in Akira’s voice. Gentle prodding.

“That— that’s not what it’s called.” Wait.

“Then what _is_ it called?”

Yusuke tries to remember what the plate beside the painting said. But, if he knows the painting so personally, he should know the name by heart, shouldn’t he—? “I…”

“Yusuke,” Akira says, stepping forward. “I’ve met Madarame before. He didn’t like me. _You_ barely liked me, at first.”

“Nonsense. I’ve always liked you.”

“How did we meet?”

Well—

“Why can’t you remember the painting’s name?”

Hold on—

“Yusuke.” Akira’s gentle prying brings him back out of his own head. When did he get so close? When did his voice get so quiet? When did Yusuke’s world start hanging on every lilt of it? In the solitude of a station at night, it feels like they’re the only two in the _world_ right now. 

“Do you remember me?” Akira asks.

“How could I ever forget you?” Yusuke’s honest even as ice wraps invisible claws around his neck.

“We used to ride in the boats at Inokashira Park.” Akira smiles, but it’s bittersweet. He does not answer the question. “You always made me row while you drew. We helped each other.”

It feels familiar. Yusuke _knows_ it’s true, but when he tries to remember it, it’s… gone. Muted, whispering just outside of his reach. 

“I would make you curry and coffee.”

He can _taste it,_ perfectly bitter on his tongue, the spice of curry chasing the cold away after a particularly chilly night when he wandered too far and lost track of time. But when was that? He doesn’t get lost often anymore, finds no reason to...

“You tried to make me food, when I got out of interrogation.”

Interrogation… bruises and cuts and the ugly anger that sprouted in him when he finally saw them: _Those bastards. This is unforgivable. There should have been a better way._

“It wasn’t amazing, but— but you took care of me. Everyone did. So I’m… I’m trying to take care of you all.”

Yusuke swallows past a painful lump in his throat. “Akira, what are you saying?” 

Akira ducks his head, that familiar dark fringe being all that’s left as he studies their feet. He takes a deep, sucking breath like he’s gasping for it. When he speaks again, his voice has the barest tremble to it. A hand darts out to take Yusuke’s, and Yusuke almost wants to apologize for how his fingers must feel like icicles compared to Akira’s warm grasp.

He’s too busy fighting down his own heartbeat, which threatens to drown out everything.

“I know it’s perfect, I _know_ you’re all happy, but— but that’s not what life is. And I need your help if we’re going to get everything back to how it should be.”

Yusuke’s— he’s _scared._ A bucket of water has been poured over his head, taking away the tar in his eyes. His world shifts on its axis. He thinks of the room, _his_ room, and it’s so beautiful, it’s his, it’s— it’s superficial. Like a perfect illusion, meeting him stroke for stroke and mirroring desires he’s held within for months.

The familiarity pries him open, filling him with an odd recognition he can not name just yet.

His voice delicate and rasping, he asks, “Am I repeating my mistakes?” _What mistakes?_ He looks down at Akira, brushes a thumb over his hand, and that action alone draws Akira closer. Close enough that he _has_ to look up again. Close enough for Yusuke to be unable to escape the determined, pleading gaze he has adopted.

Akira takes another deep breath. This one is slow, a coming storm that Yusuke can not look away from. He tilts up, closer, closer, and closer still. His lips brush Yusuke’s cheek. A fleeting, chaste affection.

Yusuke doesn’t recoil. He’s not frightened. He doesn’t ask, _What are you doing?_

If anything, he feels disappointed. And everything snaps into place. He winces, the too-bright lights burning him even behind his now-closed eyes, and he grits his teeth. A lifetime stuck under a greedy man’s thumb. Friends, pulling him out of the dark. Ryuji and Ann and Morgana and Skull and Panther and Mona. 

Fox. Joker.

He’s living a lie. This is a _lie—_ a beautiful, painful lie, and the swell of revelation almost bowls him over. He’s lightheaded, nauseous, dizzy. He breathes, and it’s like the first breath in a café. (Overwhelming, charged, bitter.)

Oh, if only his mother could see him now. His eyes flutter open, and Akira’s expression has gone soft and concerned. He still holds Yusuke’s hand— or, rather, Yusuke has Akira’s in a tight grip, as if that’s the sole thing to keep him grounded. 

He doesn’t know what to think. He’s confused, the rush of memories and clash of realities sending his thoughts into a tailspin. He looks at this boy he’s almost certain he loved— _loves—_ and feels a rush of relief spill over him. _I missed you,_ that deep yearning in his bones says again. Softer, this time.

Soon after comes the shame. _I tricked myself. You’ve had to save me again._ It burns him like a hot iron, and Yusuke has never been good at dealing with fire. He drops Akira’s hand and takes a shaky step back. “I— I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m unwell. I…”

Akira holds his gaze in silence as Yusuke tries to find the words. The train rumbles down the tracks, drawing near.

“I need to be alone right now.” It’s the only thing he can come up with, drawing even further back. He has a lot to think about, a lot to lose, a lot to grieve.

As the train pulls in, Akira nods quietly. He turns to board, a stiff set to his shoulders. He casts one last look back. He says, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

The doors close behind him, ready to pull away, and Yusuke nods belatedly. _Of course you will. And I’ll be there for you. I promise._

But first, he must wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! thanks for reading/commenting/kudos-ing/existing. been meaning to write shukita for a while. hope y'all have good days. c:
> 
> [fic tweet here](https://twitter.com/astronomicallie/status/1293729279105290240?s=20) if it strikes your fancy


End file.
